


Mile High

by BartonStark (BloodEnvy)



Category: Avengers (Comics), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Airplane Sex, Drug Use, Drugs, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Medicinal Drug Use, Reader Insert, References to Drugs, Semi-Public Sex, Sex, Smut, Viagra
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:15:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23276950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodEnvy/pseuds/BartonStark
Summary: Inspired by an interview Jeremy Renner had in 2012.You and Clint are flying from New York to London on the red eye, and he takes what he thinks is a sleeping pill. It really, really isn't.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Original Character(s), Clint Barton/Original Female Character(s), Clint Barton/Reader, Clint Barton/You
Comments: 8
Kudos: 187





	Mile High

“Remind me again why we couldn’t take the quinjet for this?” you griped in a low voice as you pushed your overnight bag into the overhead compartment. You gave the woman impatiently trying to force her way past you a thin, warning smile, taking your time to pull a lightweight blanket out of your bag. For good measure, you adjusted the waist of your yoga pants and straightened your tee shirt pointedly before finally taking your seat. She huffed dramatically as she passed. “This whole trip would take, what, half the time?”

“Two reasons,” Clint replied, amused by your pettiness, from the window seat beside you. He was similarly dressed, in his usual sweats, a tee shirt and a hooded jacket, his eyes friendly, but more tired than usual. “One, because landing that thing anywhere can be kind of conspicuous, and this job is supposed to be covert. And two, because Nat and Steve needed it more than we did.”

“Of course, they did.” you sighed, leaning back in your seat. “So, then why did we have to leave at one in the morning?”

“…Because whoever Hill put in charge of our itinerary hates us?” he suggested after a moment. You gave him a side-long smirk, and he shrugged, a smile on his face.

“Well, you must have _really_ pissed them off if we got landed in economy plus.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you.”

Clint gasped, offended. “How dare you!”

“Are you suggesting that I had something to do with it?” you shot back, bottom lip tucked between your teeth as you smiled. “Clint Barton, I have never been so offended in my life.”

He snickered, shaking his head in amusement. “Nat said they’ll pick us up on their way back to the states. We’re scheduled to finish up a couple days before them.”

“Oh, thank God.” you grinned, eyes closed. “That thing has _ruined_ me for flying commercial.”

Clint clapped a hand on your knee sympathetically, his bottom lip in a mocking pout. You elbowed him in the ribs, and he shied away from you, laughing. The two of you had quickly built up a friendly rapport when you’d joined the team, one that led to quick jokes and light-hearted teasing. You’d maybe developed a little bit of a crush in the last year, but nothing you’d admit to. You couldn’t help it; he was funny, sweet and had some of the best arms you’d ever seen.

The two of you fell silent as the flight attendants went through the usual spiel about safety measures and emergency exits, picking the conversation back up at a lower volume once you were in the air and the seatbelts were off.

“You’re lucky you sleep so easy,” you commented as you accepted water from a passing flight attendant and tossed the blanket over your lap. You lifted the side to share, but Clint declined the offer. “I honestly don’t think I’m going to get much sleep sitting here.”

“This might help,” Clint said, pushing the armrest between you up and out of the way. The two of you pushed your chairs to recline slightly; it seemed that no one aboard was going to try and stay awake. Lights were switching off all around you. “Look at that, it’s basically first class.”

“Or at least the company is,” you teased, and Clint chuckled, nudging you with his shoulder.

“Sweet-talker.”

“I was talking about me.”

“Rude.”

You stretched your arms out in front of you languidly, smiling. “It’s your time to shine, Hawkguy. You’ve been training for this all your life.”

Clint cocked an amused eyebrow at you. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Sleep.” you pointed out with a grin. “You get to sleep. On company time.”

Clint sighed. “If only it were that easy.”

“Oh, come on. You’re like a sleep-wizard.”

“Not on planes, I’m not.”

“You? You have trouble sleeping? Ever?” you teased incredulously. “I thought it was your natural state of being.”

“Not in the air, apparently,” he said ruefully, digging in his pocket and pulling out a pill. “But Nat has me covered.”

“Nat uses sleeping pills?”

“Sometimes,” he shrugged, stealing your water to wash it down. He shot you a smirk, mouth full, at your offended look, and you laughed quietly despite yourself. “She already had a prescription for it, so she picked some up when I asked to borrow one. Lucky me.”

Shaking your head in amusement, you reached up to turn off the overhead light. You were one of the last in your section to do so, and you settled back in your seat again in the dark. “Night, Clint.”

Clint tucked his hearing aids into his pocket. “Night, Y/N.”

***

You were brought back out of a light sleep almost two hours later by Clint shifting uncomfortably beside you. You had shifted in your sleep at some point; your temple rested against his shoulder and your body inclined towards his. His movement had jostled you awake, but you only opened your eyes when he tugged the blanket off your lap.

“Hey!” you protested in a hushed voice. “What’re you doing?”

When he didn’t reply, you rolled your eyes. His hearing aids were still in his pocket. You tapped him on the shoulder pointedly, raising an eyebrow at him. He sighed, tucking them back into his ears. “What?”

“Dude.” you said, gesturing to the blanket in his lap. “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing… just go back to sleep.” Clint told you quietly, bunching the blanket on his lap.

“Me, go back to sleep? How are _you_ not asleep?” you asked, straightening reluctantly. That was probably the closest you were going to get to actually feeling the muscles of his arms, and he was surprisingly comfortable. It made you wonder briefly about what it would be like to be cuddled up in his arms instead of just sitting next to him. You wiped sleep out of you eye, stifling a yawn. “You should have passed out before I did.”

Clint leaned his head back against the seat, his eyes on the ceiling. You could see a muscle tick in his jaw, and he shifted his hips awkwardly. There was the faintest sheen of sweat on his temple, and his fingers tapped out a staccato rhythm on his knee.

“Dude, what is going on with you? You look like you’re five seconds away from exploding.”

He made a noise in the back of his throat, somewhere between a groan and a laugh. He shook his head. “Please, Y/N, just go back to sleep.”

“Clint, I swear to God, just tell me what’s wrong.” you caught yourself as your voice rose slightly, glancing at the other seats in the aisle. You weren’t the only ones awake; there were a couple of people who had obviously given up on trying to sleep, reading or watching something on the built-in screens. “If you’re having a bad reaction to the meds—”

Clint actually laughed this time. “No, I think I’m having exactly the reaction I’m supposed to. I’m going to kill ‘Tasha.”

“Nat? Why?”

Clint sighed, shaking his head. He dropped it against your shoulder, his breath cool against your arm. “It wasn’t a sleeping pill.”

“Then what was it?” Clint didn’t answer; he just bumped his forehead repeatedly against your arm. You rolled your eyes, tugging your blanket back petulantly. “If you’re going to be all cryptic about it, then—Oh, my God!”

Someone hushed you from a few rows back, and you ducked lower in your seat, a blush rising in your cheeks.

“Dude!” you admonished quietly. “Do you seriously have an _erection_ right now?”

“Fuck—Yes!” he hissed, snatching the blanket back. “And if you go grabbing at it again, we’re gonna have a bigger issue.”

“Wh—Christ, Clint!” you thumped him on the arm, a blush darkening your cheeks at his meaning. The hit probably hurt your hand more than it hurt his bicep, but he swore anyway, earning you both another shushing from a seat a few rows down. You fought the urge to glance down at his lap. From the brief glimpse you’d had, you were surprised you hadn’t noticed it before you’d taken the blanket away. And in loose-fitting sweats, he was going to struggle to hide it from view. You lowered your voice as you continued. “What the hell is the matter with you?”

“This isn’t me, alright?” he muttered, motioning down at himself.

“What, you just got a banana in your pants?”

“ _No…_ and thank you.” He joked despite the strain in his voice, and honestly, could your face get any redder? “I mean, it’s not my fault. That little ‘A’ on the pill? Pretty sure we had it upside down.”

“‘V’—as in Viagra? Why the hell would Nat have Viagra? Or give it to you, for that matter?”

Clint sighed, rubbing his eyes. He fumbled in your lap for the blanket, dragging it back over himself. It did nothing to hide his predicament now that you knew it was there, but you were also grateful to have it slightly more obscured. You were having a hard time keeping your eyes on Clint’s face. “I gave it to her… or, well, I gave it to Barnes. It was a gag gift, now the two of them are all out in the open. Dude’s like a hundred… it was a joke. Guess this is payback.”

He ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it, his eyes back on the ceiling. His jaw tightened briefly, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “God, this is… do you have any aspirin? Or ice?”

You shook your head, frowning apologetically. “I could dump my water in your lap?”

Clint chuckled despite himself, though it sounded pained. He surprised you by placing his hand on your knee and squeezing it. “Shit, Y/N, you gotta help me out here.”

“What do you want me to do?” you asked incredulously. “Jerk you off under the blanket like we’re a couple of horny teenagers on a bus?”

Clint groaned in the back of his throat, his fingers tightening briefly on your leg. His hips moved slightly, rolling upwards. It was barely noticeable, definitely done subconsciously, but you saw it, and you bit the inside of your lip as your eyes followed the movement. Despite your offended tone, you could feel heat rising in your neck and pooling in your belly. “That imagery ain’t helping.”

“Can’t you just go… take care of it?”

Clint stretched to glance over the back of your seats before leaning back in to speak to you. His face was only inches from yours, his eyes lowering to your mouth as you wet your lips. They lingered there a moment, before his eyes closed and he huffed a breath. “I’m not going to make it three feet before someone notices.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not exactly subtle.”

“Thanks again.” Clint grinned, despite himself.

You smirked despite yourself, bumping your temple against his shoulder. You straightened again, glancing down the aisle. “Take the blanket?”

“Not exactly the most subtle way of hiding it. Might as well wear a damn sign.” Clint sighed, resting his head on your shoulder. He shifted his hips again, sliding down in the seat. “God, this is so fucking uncomfortable.”

“I’m sorry, baby…” you pouted sympathetically, reaching up to run your fingers through his hair. Your cheeks darkened at your slip, but if he noticed, he didn’t react. You scratched your nails lightly over his scalp, and he moaned lightly, his hand sliding a couple of inches up your thigh and squeezing. You could feel tiny embers burn under his hand, under your skin, and your fingers faltered against his hair. “Uh, Clint? I was just kidding about the whole ‘horny teenagers’ thing…”

“’m sorry,” he muttered into your collarbone. He seemed to remember himself after a moment, straightening slowly. He bumped his forehead almost absentmindedly against your temple as he did. “Sorry. I just—God, I’m not thinking straight. Why anyone takes this shit is beyond me.”

“Well, I’m guessing most people have sex pretty soon after taking it.” you murmured, patting the hand still on your thigh. And you know, I’m assuming your dick actually works.”

Clint chuckled quietly. “Any other day I’d make a joke about that.”

“About which part? Me thinking about your dick, or just how good it works?”

“Take your pick,” he grinned, giving you a sidelong glance. He cocked an eyebrow. “…Just how often do you think about it, Y/N?”

You rolled your eyes, looking back at him the same way. “I’m sure it works fine, Agent Barton.”

“You’re just gonna keep setting me up for this shit, aren’t you?”

“Yup.” you replied, popping the ‘p’. You glanced back down the aisle again, wrinkling your nose. “Alright, I think I got this.”

“Got what?”

“Your dignity, Barton.”

“Amazing,” Clint said easily. He stretched in his seat, still clearly uncomfortable. “I haven’t seen it in years.”

“You’re really gonna need to thank me for this later, Hawkeye.” Shaking your head in amusement, you stood, moving into the aisle. You bent over your seat, speaking in his ear. “Trust me?”

“Always.”

You held out your hand, and despite the flash of hesitation in his eyes, Clint took it and let you drag him out of his seat. You turned and wrapped his arms around your waist; he took your lead quickly, pressing himself against your back. His hands slipped around you more comfortably, more naturally, his left curving against your ribs. His thumb brushed the underside of your breast, and you shivered. His breath was warm on your neck, his nose touching your hair. “Thanks.”

“Just play drunk.”

“Gotcha.”

The two of you made your way down the aisle slowly, stumbling slightly from being so close together. Clint breathed a quiet groan in your ear despite himself, his lips barely grazing the skin below it as you walked. His fingers tightened on your shirt; each step was creating friction between you that neither of you could handle.

Butterflies were swirling in your belly at the feeling of him pressed up against your backside, thick and hard. You swallowed, and Clint dropped his forehead against your shoulder as you walked, clearly unable to keep a straight face. An older woman cast the two of you a suspicious glare over her glasses as you approached, knitting in her lap.

You rolled your eyes for her benefit, leaning down to whisper in a weary tone of voice. You faltered for a moment as the movement pressed you further into Clint’s crotch, and the hand on your waist tightened reflexively as you did. “He had a little too much at the airport bar, and now he can’t seem to make it to the bathroom on his own.”

“Men,” she said conspiratorially. “The things we do for love.”

You nodded with a tight-lipped smile, expression freezing when Clint apparently took her words as a cue. His lips found your throat, tongue barely touching flesh. His stubble scratched at your shoulder, and that excitement in your belly tightened. You almost melted into it before remembering your role as exasperated girlfriend and shying away.

The woman gave you an indulgent smile, leaning forward to speak in a stage whisper. “At least he’s cute, honey.”

Clint snickered against your skin, and you reached back to pinch his hip in reprimand. You spared her one more glance before dragging Clint down to the bathroom, that knot still tightening inside you.

“Okay,” you said quietly, turning in Clint’s arms. His hands moved to your hips; his erection now pressed against your stomach. You opened the bathroom door, gesturing inside awkwardly. “I, uh… yeah. You better get in there.”

Clint breathed a laugh at that, nodding. His face was a little flushed, his breathing unsteady. He opened his mouth to reply for a moment, but closed it again, apparently thinking better of it. The two of you stood there, stuck in limbo, for a few moments before you gave him a small, slightly awkward smile. Without thinking, you leaned up on your toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek, surprising the both of you. You met his eyes again for a moment as you pulled away before you shook your head at yourself, moving to walk back to your seat.

You were stopped before you made it three steps, Clint’s strong hand catching hold of your bicep. He pulled you back towards him, turning you to face him again. His eyes searched yours for the barest moment before decision flashed behind his eyes.

“Barton, wh—?”

“Fuck it.”

He leaned down, his mouth meeting yours in a kiss. You froze, eyes widening for a moment before you found yourself melting into it, your arms winding around his neck. Clint took hold of your waist as soon as he felt you respond, pulling you flush against him, almost lifting you off the ground completely. He groaned into the kiss as you hand found his hair, and the sound made your middle twist with bubbles, warm and exciting.

His fingers bunched in your shirt, one hand moving to the small of your back. It wasn’t until you needed to breathe that the two of you parted, your hand moving to his shoulders. His teeth grazed his bottom lip, and you exhaled slowly as you finally caught your breath. You cast a glance behind you; by some miracle, no one had noticed the two of you yet.

“Clint…”

One hand released you to rub sheepishly at the back of his head. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

You barely gave it a thought; you took Clint’s face in your hands and pulled him into another kiss.

His response was fumbling at first, caught off-guard like you had been, but your teeth grazed his bottom lip and he was suddenly responding in kind. Your fingers curled in the front of his shirt, needy and wanting, and you turned, backing into the bathroom. You pulled him in after you, stumbling as you did.

Clint chuckled against your lips, reaching behind himself to close the door and turn the lock. His lips were sweet and eager against yours, his hands sliding up to your ribs. Your shirt hiked up with them, and you shivered as his fingers smoothed over your bare skin.

You almost tripped as the back of you knee met the toilet, and Clint turned, leaning back against what passed for a counter. His hands moved to the back of your thighs and he lifted you easily. Your knees moved to either side of his waist, resting on the edge of the countertop. The corner of it dug into your knees uncomfortably, but Clint’s hands were suddenly squeezing your ass and you couldn’t find it in you to care.

His mouth moved to your cheek, your jaw, your neck… anywhere he could find bare skin. His kiss was a talented, desperate mix of tongue and the graze of teeth and you hooked one arm around his neck for balance. Desperate for more contact, you ground your hips down against his.

Clint moaned as you did, too loud, already over-sensitized. He lifted your shirt, his hand palming your breast through your bra, his lips returning to yours. Your fingers curled in his hair at the nape of his neck and he hummed against your lips, high and yearning. You reached between the two of you with your other hand, fingers fumbling at the waistband of his sweats. Your nails grazed the hair below his navel, and he shivered.

He caught hold of your wrist and broke the kiss slowly. The way it lingered was suddenly and surprisingly more affectionate than the desperation you’d shared before; you rested your forehead against his.

“Are you sure?” he whispered, hand releasing yours to slide up your arm. His touch was feather-light, fingertips almost uncertain. He lowered you to the floor again, though there were barely inches between you. “We don’t have to—I mean, I don’t want you to think that I—oh, _fuck,_ Y/N…”

You’d pushed your hand into his pants and wrapped your fingers around the length of him. His cock was thick and hard in your palm, and it twitched at your touch. A smirk curved your lips as Clint’s head fell back, his jaw tight.

“Fuck…” he repeated breathily as you began stroking him slowly. “Jesus Christ, Y/N, that’s…”

“This might be the first time someone’s told you this, Barton,” you murmured, leaning up on your toes to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw. He exhaled slowly as you did, his hands gripping the edge of the counter. He was holding it so tightly his knuckles were beginning to whiten as your lips moved to his ear. You caught his earlobe between your teeth for a moment. “But don’t think so much.”

Your lips trailed along the side of his throat as you pumped him, his hips thrusting disjointedly into your grip as your speed increased. Clint ran a hand through his breathlessly, his head turning to catch you in a kiss. You felt his lips brush against your temple as you sucked a light mark into the base of his throat. You caught his lips with your own to stifle his moan, and his tongue rolled languidly over your own. His teeth grazed your lower lip as you swiped you thumb over the head of his cock.

Clint’s hand rose to stroke your cheek lightly before ghosting down your front. His fingertips teased lower, over your hip and thigh, to the apex between your legs. You broke away with a whimper as he suddenly cupped your sex roughly with his hand, a wonderful pressure.

“Not to be… difficult,” you muttered, forehead bumping against his shoulder, “But we should probably hurry this up.”

Clint chuckled in the back of his throat, his voice almost a growl. “Turn around.”

You kissed him again before you did as he ordered, squeaking excitedly as he pushed you up against the wall. He pressed his body against yours, teasing the base of your throat with teeth and tongue. His hand trailed down your back, squeezing your backside firmly before dipping between your legs.

He pulled your hips back almost roughly, using the hand between your legs to spread them. A gasp caught in your throat as he bit down just as he jerked your pants and underwear halfway down your thighs. His hand found your hip and you moaned outright as you felt his cock slide between your thighs, the head brushing against your clit.

“I can… I can still stop, baby.”

You swore, you could have melted into the floor when he called you that. Or maybe it was the sensation of him sliding against you in slow, measured strokes, each one sending sparks up your spine as it met your clit. You pushed back against him, cursing as the tip of his cock slipped inside you. Clint echoed the sentiment, head falling against your shoulder. “Don’t you dare.”

“Oh, thank God…” he chuckled almost deliriously, face still pressed into your back. His laughter broke off into a muffled, heady moan as he slowly pushed himself further into you. Wrapping an arm around you middle, he spread his hand possessively over your stomach as he began to fuck you steadily. “Holy _fuck,_ how do you feel this good?”

You reached behind you to grope at his hip, urging him deeper inside you with each thrust. His hand bunched in your shirt as you pushed back to meet his hips, so hard that is pulled tightly against your throat until you heard the fabric tear. “Shit, sorry…”

“It’s fine,” you urged. “Just don’t stop.”

Clint’s hand moved to your clit as his pace quickened, and you bit your lip, painfully hard, to try and stop a moan. You could already feel yourself tightening around him, an orgasm building. He filled you, fucked you so well…

“Oh, fuck, fuck, _fuck…_ ”

“Shhh, baby…” he hushed you, his voice hoarse. His teeth grazed the shell of your ear, and you shuddered against him. When you moaned again, he kissed your throat, his free hand stroking your cheek before he clamped it over your mouth. “God, you’re so _fucking wet_ …”

He fucked you until you felt like you’d fall apart, held in place by a hand over your mouth and the other rubbing furiously at your clit. Your body curved to his, the wall agitating your breasts with every thrust, the smooth surface cool against your cheek.

“Come on, baby…” Clint muttered in your ear. “Come for me, baby, I’m so close…”

You whimpered against his hand, nodding. He continued to whisper, to beg, in your ear, until you both reached climax, you more than once. Your knees shook as he pulled out of you slowly, his lips mumbling kisses along your shoulder where the shirt had torn.

You didn’t speak until you’d both cleaned yourselves up and pulled up your pants; you leaned against the wall, folding your arms over your chest. “I really hope that lady fell asleep or we are so busted.”

Clint snickered, reaching over to touch the hem of your now-ruined shirt. “We might be already.” He shrugged off his hoodie and held it out to you. “Here.”

You took it with a smile, shrugging off your shirt and, after a moment’s consideration, shoved it in the sanitary waste bin. You raised an eyebrow at him as you zipped up the jacket. “Are you staring, Agent Barton?”

“Can you blame me?” he said with a smirk. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of your yoga pants and tugged you over to him. You stumbled slightly, falling against him. He caught your chin, tilting it up so you could look at him. There was still heat burning behind his eyes, but it was softer. Affectionate, even a little insecure. “We okay?”

You smiled. “Sure, we are.”

He grinned back down at you, leaning down to kiss you. Just before your lips met, you spoke again. “Or did you mean getting back to our seats?”

Clint laughed, kissing you soundly and unlocking the door. “I’m a secret agent, Y/N. Sneaking is my specialty.”

“Sure it is, Hawkguy.” you replied. “You go first.”


End file.
